Ballerina Girl
by Shellin8
Summary: So Sloan's got a secret talent she hasn't let Don see yet. Here's how Don found out about it.


So Sloan's got a little secret. Don finds out about it. This is total fluff and based on the fact that I danced for a very long time. It's also sort-of a companion piece to The Other Couple, just a little further down the line than where that story is currently. Enjoy!

* * *

Ballerina Girl

On a Friday night the bullpen and offices on the NewsNight and RightNow floors tended to empty out fairly quickly once the shows were done. Some people had spouses and children to get home to, others wanted to start drinking or go out and celebrate another work week being over. Sloan was standing in her office when Mackenzie popped her head in the doorway to say good-night. Will was close at her heels and he paused in Sloan's doorway, too, while he waited for his fiancee to finish talking to her best friend.

Mac was smiling as Will put out a hand to squeeze her shoulder. Mackenzie smiles so much more now, Sloan thought. She loved seeing her friend happy. And while Will was always going to be argumentative he was happier, too.

"So we'll see you guys tomorrow night? We're so excited to be having you and Don over! You're our first guests since I moved in to the apartment! I can't wait to show you the new furniture!" Mackenzie trilled. "So what are you guys doing tonight?" she went on to ask.

"Don's meeting a buddy from college for dinner and drinks," Sloan said, "And I am going home to clean and maybe exercise a little and Don will come over late, when he's done with Joe." she finished. "It's a good thing- Don only sees Joe like once a year, and I could use an evening with nothing to do but things in my apartment!" she finished, and smiled.

"Well, have a good night, hon, and see you tomorrow at 7:00!" Mac smiled again, and Will said, "Please don't bring anything. We have everything we need. Just bring yourselves!" and as he went to follow Mackenzie he said, "See you tomorrow, Sis." and winked at Sloan as he ambled away.

Next in the parade of people coming to Sloan's doorway was Don. Just seeing him walking into the room smiling at her made her heart beat faster. "I'm heading downstairs- Joe's in the lobby. Are you sure you don't want me to take you home and meet him at the restaurant?" he asked.

"I am perfectly capable of seeing myself home, thanks. I did it for years before you came into the picture, mister!" she said playfully. She walked over and placed her hands on his chest and his arms immediately went around her waist. "I'm fine. Please go enjoy your time with Joe, and don't worry about rushing over. You have a key, just get there when you get there." she finished and kissed him sweetly.

"OK, I'm heading downstairs. I'll see you later. If you're not awake, maybe I'll wake you in a special way." he said, laughing.

Sloan shook her head and went back to gathering her things. Ten minutes later she was ready to leave, and she headed down to the lobby and out to the sidewalk. She decided to walk to the pizza place a few blocks away and get a calzone for her dinner. Once she had the calzone and a small salad from Mario's she cabbed it back to her apartment.

Once inside, she looked around in disgust. "This place is a mess," she said aloud to no one. "I need to clean up in here. But first… I have to have a bite of this because it smells too good." She had a few bites of her calzone and left it on the counter in the kitchen. She grabbed her cleaning supplies and the vacuum and set to work. She dusted and wiped and vacuumed in record time. She moved her dining room table and chairs up against the wall to her bedroom and she mopped the hardwood. Once the floors were done she went into the kitchen to eat more of the calzone and salad, and to clean up in there. In between bites of her dinner she got her kitchen spotlessly clean. She sat down, tired from the exertion, but proud of her hard work.

As Sloan sat on one of the tall barstool chairs in her galley kitchen, she looked down at her bare feet. She had been sitting with her toes pointed and not even realized it. She smiled and stood on the cool wood floor of the kitchen. "Old habits die hard," she said. Then she stood and said out loud, First position," and stood with her heels together, toes pointed out, and her arms bent slightly at the elbows and curled in towards her stomach. "Second position," she said, and slid her heels apart and moved her arms out wide but still curled around to the front. "Third position," she said next, and she slid her feet back together with the right in front and so the heel of each foot lined up with the middle of the other foot. One arm was held out to the side, and the other was curled in to the front. "God, I hate third position," she said. "Fourth position," Sloan said quietly, and lined her feet up, heel-to-toe, with the right in front. Her left arm was raised over her head, the right one curled in. "And finally, my favorite, fifth position." She raised her arms above her head.

Sloan walked out into the dining room, the floors now dry but the rug still rolled up and the table and chairs where she'd left them, pushed to the side wall nearest her bedroom. She pushed the table aside enough to pass through and padded into her bedroom. She slid open her bottom dresser drawer and pulled out a black short-sleeved leotard, pink tights, and pink toe shoes. She took off her blouse and dress pants and laid them on the bed, pulled on the tights and leotard, and then sat on the edge of the bed to put on her slippers. She criss-crossed the ribbon laces three times and then tied and tucked the edges up and under. Then she walked with her feet turned out back into the dining room. She grabbed a dining room chair and pulled it to the center of the open space and began to use it as a barre to warm up. She started with demi-piles, small bends at the knee, then moved to deeper and deeper bends until she was doing grand plies and going low to the floor. She did them in every position. It was time consuming, but when you've had the exercises a la barre drilled into you, you do them faithfully, Sloan thought. She went through each of the exercises in turn, tendus, developpes, and ronds de jambes, attitudes and arabesques. Sloan was only 5'4", but she had long legs, which meant that her arabesques were lovely. She stood on one leg with her foot turned out, and lifted the other leg at a ninety degree angle behind her, one arm pointing ahead of her and one behind. She held her head high and smiled as she held the arabesque, steady, strong, and graceful.

Feeling warmed up and ready to move, Sloan moved the chair back to the side of the room, then walked to her mantle where her iPod was plugged into her docking station. She scrolled through her playlists, found the one she wanted, and clicked play. She walked back to the middle of the room and waited. When the song started, Sloan smiled. It was Morning, from Peer Gynt.

After that came Clair de Lune, by Debussy, The Waltz of the Flowers from Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker, Mozart's Clarinet Concerto in A Major, The Dance of the Swans from Swan Lake, Habanera from Carmen, and then, finally, her favorite, In the Hall of the Mountain King by Grieg. These were her favorite songs to dance to, and Sloan was completely lost in her dancing.

Sloan never stopped moving. She danced nearly 30 straight minutes without stopping, except to compose herself when one song ended and before the next began. She performed her bourre, tiny steps en pointe, and moved across the floor. She pirouetted across the room on her toes. She lept and twirled and glided. Sloan's favorite step was the grand jete, where she took off and leapt and made her legs a perfect line, one extended to the front and one behind her. She jeted again and again, landing with hardly a noise, and starting a string of pirouettes. As In the Hall of the Mountain King rose to its swell, Sloan increased her pace, spinning faster and faster, and finally ascending in her entrechat, rising to the air to beat her legs together and coming down to land on one foot. As the song ended, she slid to the ground in a fondue, a movement that made it look like she was melting. She stood on her left foot while she slid her right leg down behind her and ended on the floor. She bent her head over her front leg and held her arms out to the side.

Sloan sat there, catching her breath and trying to slow her heartbeat. She raised her head slowly, and as she did, she noticed there were shoes in her sight line. They were black loafers. Men's shoes. Don's shoes.

As she raised her head fully, she saw Don leaning on the back of the couch, jacket folded over his arm, and staring at her like he'd never seen her before in his life.

"Hi," she said shyly. "How long have you been standing there?" she asked as she looked down at the floor, her cheeks coloring with embarrassment.

"About 3 minutes," he said slowly. "I walked in at the beginning of The Hall of the Mountain King. Joe wasn't feeling well, so we left after drinks. I… I don't know what to say. I didn't know you could do that." he said quietly and a smile crept across his face. "When… how long have you danced for?" he asked.

"Since I was three," she replied. "Initially I think it was my mother's desire to see her little girl in frilly tutus, but I liked it, so I kept doing it. It helped me to be more coordinated- as a little kid I was a pretty big klutz." She shrugged. "I got kind-of obsessed with getting better and better, and soon I was dancing about 20 hours a week. I went en pointe when I was 11, which was earlier than normal. But I realized I didn't want to be a professional dancer, so I scaled back when I started taking more AP and advanced classes in high school. I still love it, though." She smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it. It's one of those things I mainly keep to myself, though Kenzie knows."

Don nodded. Of course she would tell her closest friend. "Has Mac ever seen you dance?"

Sloan smiled. "Actually, we've danced together. Just hanging around, nothing formal, in one of our apartments. Mackenzie loves ballet, too, and she danced for years, but she was always being discouraged, because for a ballerina she's too tall. I think she still does it just out of spite." Sloan laughed.

Don laughed, too. He would hate to see the shit storm Mac would unleash if someone told her she couldn't do something she loved. It would be like if they told her she had to stop producing the news. "So… what was that you were doing, there. During the Grieg. It looked really complicated." he asked.

"Do you want me to show you?" she asked him. "I mean, you already saw some of it, and even though I'm kinda self-conscious about people watching me, I mean, it's you." she said. "I want to share this with you… if you want to watch, that is." she added.

"There's nothing in the world I want more right now than to see you dance," he said. He grabbed a dining room chair and pulled it to the far side of the room, up against the back of the couch. He sat down and smiled at her.

"What kind of music do you want to hear? Classical, or something more modern?" she asked.

"Pick something you love, and play that. Classical, modern… doesn't matter. I want whatever you want." he said and grinned. Sloan's heart skipped a beat. He wanted to see her dance. She suddenly felt shy, but she pushed it aside. She was going to dance for her audience of one, and she felt inspired.

"I'll play the Waltz of the Flowers from the Nutcracker," she said. "I danced a solo in the Waltz of the Flowers when I was in 8th grade," she went on. I was only a student, but I was brought up to the corps de ballet at the professional dance company. They wanted a little girl to be the Rose because she's supposed to be small, and I fit the bill. Talented and tiny." She took a deep breath and breathed out slowly. "Ready?"

Don said, "You bet. Let me see you, Ballerina."

Sloan clicked play on her iPod. As the music began, Sloan came alive. Though she had learned the routine 20 years earlier it had been ingrained in her muscle memory. She didn't even have to think about what step came next, she instinctively knew when to pirouette, glissade, bourre and jete. When the song ended, four minutes later, she was posed in an arabesque, standing on her right leg, left leg extended at a 90 degree angle behind her. She smiled at Don, then curtsied, and reached over to pause the iPod.

Don stood up and walked to her. He put his hands to her hips and leaned down to kiss her. It was a sweet kiss, but it became more insistent, more needy. "You are impressive," he breathed into her ear as he trailed kisses down the side of her neck.

Sloan smiled. "It's something I love. I'm glad I shared it with you." she said simply.

"Will you dance with me?" Don asked. "I mean, I can't do what you just did, but I can waltz. My grandmother taught me when I was 12." he laughed. "She said it would come in handy some day, and I'm thinking it was in preparation for this exact moment."

Sloan walked to her iPod on the mantle. "Well, it so happens that I, too, know how to waltz. I have just the thing for you." She searched her music and found the song she wanted, then hit play.

It was Brahms's Waltz in A Flat Major. Don took her right hand in his left, and placed his right hand around her waist. Sloan stood ready, head held high, and waited for Don to lead her across the floor. They turned and twirled in the fashion of a Viennese waltz. When it was over, Don dipped her, then set her back on her feet gently. "Thank you, miss." he said with a wink.

Sloan curtsied and said, "Thank you, kind sir." She giggled and took Don's hands in hers. "This is the earliest I've ever let a guy know about my love of ballet," she said. "Well, some guys didn't last long enough to get to that point." she said pointedly. Then she went on. "I don't know… guys usually seem to think it's nice, but they don't actively care. Men don't love ballet like women do. You seem to care that I love it."

Don took his left hand from hers and used it to gently touch her cheek. He looked into her eyes and said, "I am head-over-heels in love with you, Sloan. You shared something with me, and it makes me love you even more. I know, it's been only a few months, but you have to know how much I love you. Doesn't it show?"

Sloan's reply was to put a hand on the back of his neck and to kiss him unrelentingly. The kiss went on and on, pressing and emphatic. If Don didn't know how Sloan felt before, he certainly did now, after that kiss.

When she finally had to stop to breathe, Sloan put her head on Don's chest. "I love you, too, Donald James Keefer. I think I love you more than I've ever loved anyone."

Don smiled and kissed the side of Sloan's forehead. "Is it a bad thing if I also got totally turned on by seeing you dance? I mean, I feel like that's weird. Ballet dancing is not inherently sexual. I am a lecherous jerk?" he asked.

Sloan smiled and took Don's hand. "No, you're not a lecherous jerk. It actually got me pretty turned on, dancing for you." She kissed him again and said, "Take me to bed, Don. There are things I need you to do to me." Needing no further encouragement, Don followed her to the bedroom.

* * *

On a Wednesday a few weeks later, Sloan arrived at work and went into her office. There was a folder on her blotter, and when she went around her desk to read it, it said, Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts. When she opened the folder, there was a schedule of ballet events, and an envelope. Before she could process what she was seeing, Don was in her doorway.

"You bought tickets to a ballet?" she asked him. She looked up at him with wide, expectant eyes.

"Actually, I bought the New York City Ballet's entire season," he said. "It's just the live performances, not the Film Society showings," he went on. "Those are easy to buy individually, though. I figured sometimes we can go to the performances, and sometimes you can take Mac…" Don trailed off. "What's wrong?" he said when he looked at Sloan and saw that her eyes were glassy with tears that were about to spill over.

"This is the most thoughtful thing…" she said and then she was crying in earnest. Don went around to her side of the desk and knelt down in front of her. "Hey, hey… shhhhh… Don't cry. Sloan, please don't cry." Don crooned as he put his arms around her and held her tightly.

The storm blew over pretty quickly. Don handed her a tissue and she blotted her eyes and blew her nose. "I can't thank you enough for this," she said. "I love you, Don."

"I know, babe. I love you, too. I'm going to meet with Charlie. Are you OK?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. That was a little overwhelming, but I think I'm good." she answered. "See you later for the run-down." She tilted her head up so Don could peck her lips and then he was out of the office and striding down the hall.

* * *

A few minutes later Sloan needed a break from the report she was attempting to read. She grabbed the Lincoln Center folder and walked down the hall to Mackenzie's office. Mac looked up and while most people would have thought Sloan looked her trademark beautiful, Mackenzie could see the redness at the tip of her nose, and the still-glassy condition of her eyes and knew that her friend had been crying. She looked up at Sloan and said, "What's wrong? Did you and Don have an argument?"

Sloan held out the folder. "Remember how I told you that he came home that night when I was dancing in my apartment and he loved it? He went to Lincoln Center and bought tickets to the entire season for the New York City Ballet. The whole season, Kenzie!" Sloan sighed and held the folder to her chest.

"Oh my God," Mackenzie shouted. "The entire season? Holy shit, he's completely…" Mac trailed off.

"In love with me," Sloan asked? "Yes, yes he is." she said with a smile.

The End


End file.
